A Case of Fists
by SekaiNoAi
Summary: Galmar Stone-Fist was a formidable warrior and the personal housecarl of the most out-spoken Jarl in Skyrim. Rolff Stone-Fist was a dunken layabout, who spent his free time making racial slurs at Windhelm's Dunmer population. Together the two of them were brothers, united by the blood that ran through their veins, but that didn't mean they had to like it.


**I honestly don't know what I'm doing, going off and writing one shots while I still have ongoing fanfictions that need writing but fluff it!**

**I felt somewhat compelled to write about Galmar and Rolff Stone-Fist as I've only just realised (after 90 plus hours of total gameplay) that they're brothers... You'd have thought the shared surname might have given it away but apparently not. xD  
****It irked me a little that neither character really said anything about the other despite being related and I was interested in what kind of a relationship they might have, so consider this fanfiction to be my personal headcannon of their relationship.**

**Anyways, as usual, enjoy :D**

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"Jarl Ulfric" Jorleif bowed his head slightly in a formal greeting as he entered the war-room of the Palace of Kings, where the rebel leader had been having an intimate discussion with his housecarl, Galmar Stone-Fist, over the current state of the Civil War. Upon the intrusion, the conversation dissolved and both Nords turned their attention to the steward. "Is this a bad time, sir?"  
"No. Speak Jorleif" The Jarl answered as he adjusted one of his gauntlets in a somewhat inattentive manner.  
The steward nodded. "There have been a numerous reports of disturbances in the Gray Quarter. Apparently a few drunkards have been harassing the Dunmer and they are now demanding we do something to put an end to the behaviour"  
Ulfric emitted a long drawn out sigh, shaking his head in displeasure, but before he had a chance to reply to the steward, Galmar butted in. "For the love of Talos, please tell me my milk-drinker of a brother, is not one of these drunkards."  
Jorleif gave the Nord an apologetic look, hesitating, before replying. "It appears that Rolff is involved in the disturbances."  
It was now Galmar's turn to look irritated as he covered his rugged features with his palm, shaking his own head in the same manner as Ulfric had. "The damn fool! Doesn't he realise we already have enough to contend with without the damn elves on our backs as well?" He looked over to Ulfric, who was watching the housecarl intently.  
The Jarl knew of the long-standing hostilities between the two Stone-Fist brothers, from what Galmar had told him of his childhood. According to the warrior, Rolff had always played the role of the ignored younger brother, constantly overshadowed by his older sibling. Galmar had always excelled in strategy, leadership and of course combat and had always received copious amounts of praise from those around him, all except Rolff however, who resented him for it. While Galmar was off joining the Legion and fighting for a once honourable Empire, Rolff had spent his time getting off his face at the nearest tavern. Little had changed over the years, apart from the fact Galmar was now fighting against the Empire he'd once spilt blood for. Rolff was still the same drunken layabout he always was, only now he'd taken it upon himself to accuse every elf that so much as sneezed within Windhelm of being a spy for the Imperials.  
"I apologise, Ulfric, for that moronic swine's behaviour. With your permission, I'd like to set him straight. Perhaps then we can get back to business." The Nord breathed heavily, clearly riled and to a certain extent embarrassed by his brother's actions.  
Ulfric raised a hand to stem his apologies. "Blood may be thicker than water, but that doesn't mean we have to like it or take liability for those we must share that blood with." Galmar snorted bitterly. "My only concern though is, are you _really_ the right person to make him see reason, Galmar?"  
For a second time the housecarl snorted. "Oh, he doesn't have to see reason, just my fist in his eye"

...

Rolff downed the rest of his mead gluttonously before belching with pride, much to the disgust of the rest of the tavern's patrons.  
"Let's go 'n' scare them grayskin spies shitless" His drinking partner, Angrenor, encouraged in a drunken slur while eyeing the Dunmer bard, Luaffyn, with notable disdain.  
"Naw, one minute. Lemme 'ave another first. I wanna make sure I'm properly pissed before I 'ave to walk around in their stench"  
At that precise moment the side door to Candlehearth Hall opened and the wintery air of Windhelm was briefly allowed to rush in, making the hairs on the back of Rolff's neck stand up. He turned awkwardly in his seat to see who had just arrived. As the door shut again, an enormous bear of a man made his way over to where Rolff was sitting.  
"Care for a drink, Gal? My treat." The younger Nord asked sarcastically in an incoherent slur once he realised who the man was.  
Galmar Stone-Fist simply looked down at his pitiful excuse for a brother, paying little attention to his drinking companion, and grunted "Out. Now."  
"Or what?" He retorted, spluttering as he took another gulp of his mead.  
"Or I shove my sword down your gullet, that's what"  
Rolff glowered at the Nord for some time before deciding it was best to do as his _dear_ brother told him to, as much as he loathed doing so. Clumsily, he pulled himself out of the oak chair in which he sat and ineptly stumbled drunkenly out of the tavern after Galmar.  
Once out in the bitter cold of Skyrim, the housecarl turned towards his younger brother and slapped him, hard, across the face with the back of his hand, the claws of his gauntlets scrapping the Nord as he did so, allowing blood to ooze out and drip onto his tattered clothing.  
"What in Oblivion's name do you think you're doing, causing problems in the Gray Quarter, you imbecilic moron?! If you want to help the war effort, pick up a sword a fight like a man." He growled whilst Rolff attempted to regain his balance, taken aback by what had just happened. In a sour manner, keeping his eyes locked firmly on Galmar, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and cautiously dabbed at his wound.  
"Your Jarl's too soft on those grayskinned bastards, that's why" He snarled, the blow seeming to have sobered him. "They all hate us, Nords. They're bound to be working for those Imperial dogs"  
"They don't hate us all, you lousy pillock! Just the ones that go around harassing them in the small hours of the morning"  
"They deserve all the harassment they get" Rolff drew level with his older sibling, glaring at him with defiance in his eyes as scarlet blood still trickled down his cheek.  
"Why?" Galmar rumbled, his own eyes filled with contempt for the man stood before him.  
"Because they're obviously working for the bloody Empire. For the Thalmor!"  
"And you have evidence of this?" The warrior sneered. When no reply came from his brother, he remarked scornfully "Figures"  
"I just know, gods dammit!" The drunkard yelled indignantly.  
"If the whole of Tamriel made decisions on instinct rather than proven facts, we'd get nowhere."  
"We're nowhere now, thanks to the Thalmor" Rolff snapped. What he said was true. Every one of the Thalmor's ideas came from their own gods forsaken instincts without a shred of evidence to back it up. They claimed that the almighty Talos, Ysmir himself, was a false deity and had no place among the Divines but had yet to produce anything to support their claims.  
"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean you should stoop to their damn level and start acting on instinct alone." Galmar conceded.  
"I've been doing the people of this city a public service exposing them grayskins!" Rolff spat venomously. "What have you been doing, Galmar? And I mean apart from sucking up to the Jarl's bollocks like you always do."  
The Nord's eyes widened in incredulity at his brothers words. "What have I been doing? What have I been doing?!" His tone was dangerous with every syllable made to sound like a threat. "I've been fighting for the whole of Skyrim, that's what I've been bloody doing, you over-grown, milk-drinking buffoon! _Fighting_, alongside the honourable sons and daughters of Skyrim! Your so-called "_public service_" is insulting and just adding to the mountain of problems Ulfric already has to deal with!"  
"Yeah, like which mead to drink while he sends all you, "_Stormcloaks_", off to do his dirty work" He affronted maliciously.  
From nowhere, Galmar grabbed Rolff by the front of his blood speckled shirt and rammed him violently against the tavern wall with an outraged expression lining his battle-worn face. Rolff let out an audible cry of pain as he felt the sharp stone make contact with his back, Galmar's clawed gauntlets digging uncomfortably into the base of his neck.  
"Don't you _ever_ insult Ulfric Stormcloak in front of me, again. Do you hear me?"  
There was no reply except the pained whimpers of his brother. Pulling the Nord away from the wall, Galmar proceeded to slam him against it once again before asking for a second time in an unsettlingly calm whisper "Do you hear me?"  
Rolff grunted helplessly in response, but the housecarl relinquished his grip on the man, apparently accepting the noise as a "yes".  
"Awfully protective of your Jarl, aren't you?" Jibed Rolff as he carefully rubbed his neck from where the gauntlets had dug into it, leaving red marks on his fair skin. "Better be careful, though, or people will start to talk."  
Galmar shook his head irritably. "What are you on about, you numbskull?! Ulfric is a friend and a great man."  
"That's what they all say" He sneered vindictively.  
"I don't have the time nor the energy to put up with this." The older Nord remarked exasperatedly. His age and exhaustion could be visibly seen in the many creases of his face. "Just make sure that you and your little friends steer clear of the blasted Gray Quarter in future or I really will use your throat as a decorative sword holder, next time"  
"I'd like to see you try" Rolff deadpanned. He wasn't going to let that _thug_ of a brother intimidate him, but Galmar was having none of it. All of a sudden, he took the Nord by the shoulder with one of his giant, paw-like hands and punched him squarely in the stomach with his free hand, winding the man.  
"That was for mother" He spat, avoiding all eye contact with his brother as Rolff tried to stay upright, coughing and spluttering up blood and phlegm in a grotesque fashion.  
Before he had any chance of fighting back, Galmar had turned on his heels and was calming walking off into the darkness in the direction of the Palace of Kings.  
"_BASTARD!_" He managed to yell after him through the excruciating pain he felt throughout his body, but his assailant offered no reaction and simply continued to walk away without even the slightest glance back to his brother.

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**I really don't intend to extend upon the brothers relationship and past any further. As you can see, I tried to leave things deliberately ambiguous and I think it's best to leave it that way. (And also I really do need to get on with my other fanfictions and stop writing all the other random shizzle that just pops into my head xD)  
**

**As always thank you for reading! :3**


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